P2: I never told my mother-in-law that my daughter, the child she treated like a “stray dog”

Rebecca stepped back from Brandon, wiping her wet cheeks with both hands, and turned toward our daughter with a smile so radiant it seemed to warm the cold winter morning.

She didn’t call her Brandon’s girl.

She didn’t call her guest.

She dropped to one knee on the gravel, opening her arms wide.

“Hello, Holly,” Rebecca said, her voice singing with absolute certainty.

“I’ve been waiting to welcome you home.”

Holly didn’t hesitate.

She ran straight into Rebecca’s open arms, the little brass key from Sycamore Street forgotten forever, replaced by the only thing that had ever truly mattered: a place where she belonged without condition.